Can’t do; sing, but it doesn’t stop me trying; my son sums it up most eloquently, ‘Its not that you can’t sing mum, it’s just that you don’t sing very well.’
Can do; dance, well I just have to dance, I can’t keep my feet still, as for whether or not my dancing is any good? Well dancing is an art; it’s subjective and ‘don’t stop me now, cos I’m having a good time.’
Can’t do; spell, that’s because I am dyslexic, praise be a spellcheker and the F7 button, you have set me free and give me a ‘written voice.’
Can do; like my father before me I can dowse for water.
Can’t do; sail, believe me I have tried to embrace dinghy’s and yachts with enthusiasm, but they just don’t do it for me. (It could be to do with the fact I am not at my happiest when cold and wet; throw into the equation a sea, that is anything other than a ‘mill pond’ and I can only be described as a miserable cow!) I’ve just learned to live with the smell of damp wet suits and the arrival of bits of boat (or occasionally whole dinghy) in the kitchen ‘because the varnish will dry better in the warmth’